Blossom's Bell Jar
by SatoriatParis
Summary: Rewritten former story "Losing it". It's probably one-shot but I might do a sequel story. Based on my personal experiences with depression and anxiety. Title inspired by Sylvia Plath's book "The Bell Jar".


**Losing it**

Her mind was her most valuable asset and she was losing it. It was being invaded, taken over by what seemed to be little worms, tiny little voice worms that kept pulling at each string and nerve of her brain, only for their own entertainment.

"Blossom?"

Ms. Keane's voice rang into her head making Blossom's head snapped up. She saw her teacher's confused glance, and realized she must have called her name more than a few times now.

Blossom smiled apologetically "I'm sorry, Ms. Keane… I, I was just..." she rambled, guiltily.

The kind teacher did nothing but smile kindly at the little girl "That's alright. Just try to keep your mind in the exercises!" she told her, pointing at Blossom's math book.

Blossom forced a smile, feeling herself flush and agreed. Has the teacher's tone voice been of mockery? Did she realize the girl's flushing?

Seconds passed by and the redheaded felt a hand touch her elbow, making her snap around again, in exaggerated shock.

"Blossom?"

"Bubbles..." she sighed, feeling her sides become vehemently red "Don't scare me like this!" Blossom ordered, quietly.

Her sister's blue eyes blinked vigorously, but smiled nonetheless "I did nothing but touch you... Are you okay?"

Blossom bit her lower lip nervously and nodded a yes. Bubbles had done just like the teacher - they were both mocking her, it was undeniable. Shaking her head slightly, she turned to her own math exercises as her sister did so.

_They are all laughing at you..._

The redhead shut her eyes tight. _No. Get out... No._ She told herself as her eyes focused on the book before her. However, the more she tried to focus, the words seemed to blend within each other, sometimes even jumping from the paper and making it harder to comprehend. Blossom's head started to spin, to become light. She felt so-

_Stupid_

The redheaded girl brought her hands to her eyes. "I'm gonna do it. I must do it. It's ok, I know it, I got it", she kept telling herself so, but she didn't believe it whole-heartedly.

_You can't._

'I'm going to do this!'

_Useless._

'Stop!'

_Stupid..._

The redheaded child clenched her jaw and tighetened her fists, feeling the cold sensation of anxiety raising up her throat. Taking a deep breath, she tried to remain calm, collected and rational, though it seemed to be getting harder and harder.

Slowly, her pink orbits fell to her hands. She could feel her muscles burning up from inside with the very same coldness she felt down her throat, making its way to her stomach as the sad thoughts invaded her mind. She was a failure, she was dumb, she was a fraud, she wasn't that smart, she wasn't that pretty… Everybody would notice it and would agree to her uselessness.

The toughts of fear and failure crept from the back of her mind into the depth of her skull and rested all their weight on her forehead, giving the her a migraine. It may have seemed paradoxical, but she not only felt light-headed: the seemed to compress her skull, especially in the forehead area and the sides of her head. It made her want to throw up from anxiety and rip her skin off with her nails, crave her fist into her chest and tear it open.

_Stupid._

Unawarely, her own hands moved into the flesh upon her chest, and started to scratch it.

_Stupid._

And it scratched.

_Useless_.

And it scratched.

_You're ridiculous._

Over and over, getting harder and stronger each second while the mind travelled aimlessly, trying to focus on the exercises before her eyes.

_Just look at you._

_Ridiculous._

And then, something clicked and her eyes snapped at her own chest when a liquid sensation flooded in. The scratch had opened a cut into her skin, making it bleed. Worriedly, she chewed down her lips and looked up with caution to check if anyone has noticed. Every single person in the class had their heads hanging low, concentrated in the exercises they were told to do.

The stain of blood was relatively small, so she decided to take a chance and spoke softly "Ms. Keane?"

"Yes, Blossom?" the kind teacher answered without raising her eyes.

"M-may I go to the bathroom?"

As soon as the teacher gave her a simple nod, Blossom stood up and walked to the bathroom as fast as she could, a faint sensation coming to her eyes as she reached it and shutted the door behind her.

"They all saw me." she heard her own whisper "They all know, they all saw it, they heard it, I know."

She wasn't going to be fooled, she'd seen them. Their eyes, all of them, they had risen up to watch and judge her because they know. Ms Keane, her sisters, Elmer, Mitch, Robyn, they all know, they all heard the voices and they all think the same. They agree with the voices and she knows it's true.

Trembling, Blossom took a few steps to look at her reflection in the bathroom small mirror, as she took off her dress. Her eyes widened and then narrowed in disbelief. The cut into her chest was deep, and kept dripping down her torso.

At this point, her breath had become shallow in despair as her shaking hands reached for a piece of toilet paper to stop the blood from dripping.

She'd done it before, though not at school, in public. It mostly happened when she was at home, after fighting a crime or trying to solve one. Whether the three girls were a team or not, Blossom was responsible for the thinking, for the solving and once she couldn't do so, what was she worth of?

And that's how the sad thoughts began and the anxiety that verged into panic. Her only reaction to these emotions was, dig her tiny nails into her skin, forming superficial cuts. Sometimes, the times when she wasn't as panicked, maybe chew on her own lips, bite down her nails. Her six-year old mind didn't know why, but that's how it worked.

But it was getting worse. Professor had noticed some superficial cuts in her upper arm and thighs as well as in her finger tips and lips. The girl shrugged it off but her father wasn't stupid and it fed the voices in her head and her panic: her father was noticing she hasn't felt as calm and collected anymore.

Would she be discarded?

Immediately she was told _Yes_.

Blossom's pink eyes became filled with water as she looked down at her flesh and gritted her teeth "I hate myself."

The hot tears kept streaming down her cheeks as she used all the strength she could to grab at her chest, legs and arms - literally anything that had her flesh in it - and dig as many cuts as she could.

_I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself._


End file.
